


The Paradise

by My_Soul_and_Perfume



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Eating Disorders, M/M, Marking, Mentions of Abigail Hobbs, Mentions of Jack Crawford - Freeform, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-11-15 20:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Soul_and_Perfume/pseuds/My_Soul_and_Perfume
Summary: When I woke, chilly air was nipping at my toes and my head was cushioned on Hannibal’s lap, his hand petting my hair. I could hear the light drizzle of rain outside and felt content to just lay there. It wasn’t often my mind was absent of dark thoughts and I was determined to make it last. I don’t want to think about hurting myself anymore. I don’t want to look at my wrists and see scars. I don’t want to feel like I’m choked up on smoke and burning from the inside out. I just want to feel whole.





	1. Nourishment at the Very Sight of You

_Seeing my bones is reassuring, Lord  
for I know nothing is as nourishing as the sight of you_

* * *

 The ice on my boots melts within a few moments of walking inside the pastry shop. I inhale the sweet spices, taking off my beanie and unzipping my jacket as I step further inside.

I know how I must look: starving. In need of a meal. The petite blonde behind the register eyes me as I browse the selection of apple pies, flaky tarts, and muffins, wiping her doughy hands on her apron. A few minutes later, after finding the desserts Hannibal requested, she is placing one of each in a brown paper bag, pocketing my money, and wishing me a good night. 

I clutch the paper bag against my chest and ease into a steady jog through the falling snow. Eventually, I find shelter at a bus stop awning. 

It takes three buses and one taxi to get home. This is what it takes to go pastry shopping for Hannibal Lecter. It’s always worth it though, because I get to race the sunset: see if I can make it through the door before the last tendrils of light begin to scrape the mountains: see if I’ll have to follow the lampposts home in darkness, listening to every _crack_ and _crunch_ of snow beneath my feet. 

Today, I pay the driver a handsome tip for taking me all the way across town. Cabbies don’t ordinarily do that here. 

I slide out of the cab and breath in the cool air. I still have about an hour of sunlight left before I need to be home.

I look down at the paper bag in my arms. A few spot of grease paints the bottom of it. My stomach growls like a hungry wolf, but it settles after a minute or two; the sweet smell of the pastries is enough sustenance for now. If Hannibal were here beside me, I’d say the same about him. He doesn’t appreciate me taking detours home to explore, but there’s always been an unexplainable magnetism between nature and I. Something comforting about its immortal presence. Something I can always count on. And so, when I kneel beside the river a ways into the park, it isn’t to stare at my reflection. I just listen to the quiet.

In the distance, a flock of birds flee, startled by the sound of my first ghastly sob.

* * *

 

* * *

We live in a luxurious cabin deep in the woods. Its rooftops are slanted and it faces the west, taking in the sunlight as it descends. I slip through the patio door, scuffing the ice off my boots on the matt. 

I set the brown paper bag on the counter in the kitchen, where Hannibal is uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring into two glasses; the wine is a rich, dark red.

“Shall I lay out the offerings?”

I glance at the small shrine in the hallway, perched on a carved wooden table. “No. I’ll do it.”

Hannibal smoothes his hand over my shoulder. I appreciate the gesture for what it is, but part of me can’t help but feel bitter. It’s Abigail in that shrine, her photo in a frame and mounted against the wall. My heart aches every time I pass it, and ever since she was murdered—sacrificed—this has become the only way I can try to earn her forgiveness. We had gotten her hopes up with promises we weren’t able to keep and now all three of us are paying the price.

“Happy Anniversary, Abigail. Wish you were here with us.” I place two tarts on the table. Why couldn’t I just protect her?

Suddenly, everything smells sour. The hunger pangs in my stomach get worse as I remove my coat, gloves, hat, and scarf, hanging them on a rack opposite  the shrine. Despite removing all my layers, my bones feel warm.

This dinner is special for the both of us. Not only is it the day we feast, but it is the day we mourn Abigail’s death. Now, the sun is brushing the tips of the mountains, and I am sitting down and about to enjoy a meal with Hannibal. 

As I predicted, the table is heavily decorated and set for two. When I take my seat at the table, Hannibal rises and serves the main course. The wine he had poured in the kitchen is now placed neatly by my knife and spoon, and my fingers cradle its neck for comfort.

Roast beef. Buttery corn. Cranberry sauce. Mashed potatoes. The flaky pastries on a plate. Jack Crawford seated to my left, cold and calculating, his neck slashed. Abigail to my right, teary and afraid, choking on her own blood.

“Bon appetite,” Hannibal says.

I eye the food on my plate. My stomach growls.

“You need to eat, Will,” Jack scolds, digging into his meal with gusto.

I swallow and nod. The silverware is like ice on my fingertips. 

“Dad, you don’t look so good,” comes Abigail’s worried voice from my right. Seeing her lip wobble shatters my heart to pieces. I start to pant. My stomach tightens. I feel like I'm going to vomit.

I wrap both arms around myself until the shudders die out and I can ground myself in the present again. 

“You’re doing very well, Will,” Hannibal praises.

I rub the scar on my left cheek. He’s said the same thing when I did exercises to rebuild the muscles in my jaw: when I’d had to be fed liquids for weeks before I could handle solids again: when I’d started to grow on the hunger pangs that became more and more like a drug. Then I’d began to tolerate…then anticipate…then enjoy. I never meant for it to go this far.

But here we are. My ribs stick out. My collarbones jut. My hipbones pierce. And now Abigail is weeping out of sympathy for my suffering, and Jack is trying his best to control the situation, even from the afterlife. Who would have though I’d turn out to be the fragile little teacup he’d suspected from the start?

Saliva pools in the base of my jaw, waiting  to taste that first bite of beef. It’s juicy and thick between my teeth, flavored with herbs and honey.

“My compliments to the chef,” I mutter.

Hannibal smiles. “And thank you for bringing the pastries home. I  know it was quite a drive.”

Home, huh? Yes, I suppose this is home, and Hannibal is my family. The thought is like a dark chocolate truffle on my tongue; it melts on my tongue in a rich coating, overpowering the other flavors on my tongue. It’s the only flavor I enjoy. Thoughts of the family I’ve made is easier to stomach than thoughts of the families I’ve left behind. 

Or is it the other way around?

I felt brittle boned and weak after the dinner. Hannibal guided me by the arm to bed and I immediately fell into a restful slumber. When I woke, chilly air was nipping at my toes and my head was cushioned on Hannibal’s lap, his hand petting my hair. I could hear the light drizzle of rain outside and felt content to just lay there. It wasn’t often my mind was absent of dark thoughts and I was determined to make it last. I don’t want to think about hurting myself anymore. I don’t want to look at my wrists and see scars. I don’t want to feel like I’m choked up on smoke and burning from the inside out. I just want to feel whole. 

* * *

 Despite the gloomy weather, Hannibal and I find ourselves at the market. While Hannibal takes on the task of picking out produce, carrying a basket on his arm, guilt and dread quickly fill my thoughts. I tongue the scar inside of my cheek and think of Dolarhyde’s knife, how I became addicted to its cold, metallic bite afterwards. It wasn’t so much the need to harm myself then as wanting to prove that I could control my pain. I only had my forts to shield me from the worst of things, but it gave me power to learn how to wield a blade. I know now that I could never be defenseless so long as I was in control of my own suffering.

“Will,” Hannibal called, sensing my wandering thoughts. He holds up a fat, ripe peach in the air. “Would you like to purchase a few.”

I thought about the juices on my tongue, practically felt them running down my lips and chin, and decided I definitely did. 

“Yeah,” I responded. I felt oddly mellow, as if accepting Hannibal’s offer lifted a stone I didn’t know I had on my chest. 

We walked around the market for about another hour or so until I realized the long time we spent shopping there. Sometime ago, we had switched the small basket with a cart, which was now filled to the brim with food stuffs: vegetables, fruits, eggs, milk, and herbs. It was going to cost a fortune, but Hannibal’s bank account seemed bottomless judging by the unconcerned look on the man’s face. I remember a time when he threw lavish dinner parties. I remember a time when our faces were fuller and smiles were easily exchanged between us. 

The sudden clash between past and present sent me reeling and my steps stuttered to a halt. I lifted a shaking hand to my forehead, pushing my curls back exhaustedly. I started at the cart with contempt, but these were all scabs that I had decided to pick open on my own. It’s been one year since we killed Dolarhyde. We settled into a quiet life quickly, but my teeth have been itching for blood since then. We live meagre lives now, as husbands, but my body is merely cradling a fragile soul. It hits me how badly I’ve let myself fall.

The hand on my cheek is like a breath of fresh air and a promise at the same time. He thumb swipes across my skin and realize belatedly that I’d let a tear fall. 

I haven’t cried since Abigail’s death.

"I think that is enough shopping for today,” you murmur, gazing fondly into my eyes. It’s like a grappling hook has just caught on a piece of jagged rock and the handler is beginning to make his way up.

We go to the cash register and line the items up. The transaction is slow and a nervous energy builds in my bones. Hannibal pays in cash but doesn’t collect a receipt. I couldn’t care less as long as we got out there fast.

In the car, as I’m buckling my seatbelt, I suddenly have a lap full of roses. My eyebrows shoot up in shock, hands hovering around the bouquet for a few awkward moments.

“For you,” Hannibal explains needlessly as he keys the ignition. He flicks the windshield wipers on and they sweep away the rain that had collected there. I think of Hannibal’s thumb wiping away the tear on my cheek and I feel myself blush. 

“Thank you,” I murmur, bringing the bouquet to my nose. I inhale deeply and moan. The roses smell like honey, sweet and subtle. It manages to awaken a hunger in my gut that, strangely, I don’t feel the urge to ignore this time. I want to fill this gaping hole until it disappears completely. I want you to feed me until I’m full, beneath the moon and stars, where everything is perfect.

The drive is long as we drive down a steep, winding road. That same nervous energy is building in my bones again and I fear that I will wither away from boredom. I peer at the depressing landscape outside my window and come to a decision.

“I think it’s time for a change of scenery.”

_To be continued._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd whatsoever. I kinda just write in the moment. Sorry for any mistakes.

I love the way my fingers dace about the keys. Butter smooth and soft. I crane my neck up to the sun as I play, letting body absorb the light. The sun is good for me. It's beautiful here.

“Will? What are you doing up so late?”

He appears a ghost in the pale moonlight, gaze fixed on the ocean before them. I was sitting, moving with motion, but my eyes gleamed with a sort of fixed fascination on something in the distance. Hannibal sits beside me and takes my forearm, squeezing gently.

“What do you see?” he asks.

“It’s not what I see. It’s what I hear. Just listen….” Gradually, his fingers slow their intricate dance, and the music dies….

Hannibal closes his eyes. I want him to hear the waves swelling, descending, crashing. Foam bubbles popping on the soft, sand floor. I can taste the saltwater on my tongue and smell the crisp sea breeze in my nostrils. Eyes still closed, Hannibal turns his head to murmur in Will’s ear. “The ocean breathes. There is life here.”

I sigh, because a weight has been lifted off my chest. “Yeah. That’s what I hear too. It’s strange.”

“How so?” Hannibal asks, opening his eyes.

Will swallows and looks at the big, white moon shining above them. “There’s something not right about it. It’s like…” He swallows and turns his gaze to Hannibal, his lips and eyes and bowed nose. “Something’s hunting us.”

The night fades, the sun is lit aflame. The pink and the orange and the purple. Colors of fruit and goodness.

My eyes are heavy, tired from that grey fog that comes with exhaustion, but I'm too numb to move, too dizzy to register anything but your scent, smoky like cedar; you ground me, don't you know that? I love you, I really do.

I thought I was healing by moving here- that I was moving on from the pain and terror of Abigail’s face. By some days- days like this- I feel like all I did was pack my suitcase and lug it with me. Those secrets still locked up, waiting for me to unpack them and put them away. But I won’t do it. Hannibal can beat them out of me, if he wants to, but I won’t be the naïve flower that puts himself on display and is receptive to the scrutiny of others.

Funny how I think that, wrapped in his arms. He smoothes a hand- warm, heavy- over the expanse of my shoulder and back. His chin rests atop my head. And he holds me close. Holds me like he is trying to shield me from the world. Like I am a child that needs protection.

Or simply his beloved whom he waits to marry.

I close my eyes but can’t quite picture it. In another life, maybe, if we weren’t so fucked up. If I hadn’t tried to kill him and he hadn’t tried to kill me. If that marked up slate between us was somehow wiped away, absolving us of our sins, wiping our hands of blood. No, we are two fallen angels living under the same room; we cannot escape our creator’s judgement; we cannot escape each other’s judgement; we cannot escape each other.

I can’t escape from you.

You nuzzle your nose into the crook of my neck, before a wet tongue licks a hot strip against my skin. You bite down into my flesh, and I gasp, and suddenly my hand is in your hair, pulling hard at thin strands. The pain is exquisite, all-encompassing, divine.

It _burns_ : feels perhaps too good to be true. Your hand wraps around my cock and tugs slowly, lazily. Involuntarily, my toes curl in the mattress. Something building up inside my nerves, some kind of pent-up energy. I moan, allowing my eyes to slip shut.

_So, Hannibal. Is this where you pick me apart and put back the pieces?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I only really update this story when I'm depressed. So...hope you enjoyed this chapter and look forward to more angst in the future. Keep an eye out for an update tomorrow <3


	3. Update!

Hey, guys! 

So the end of the school year is finally approaching and I'll be graduating in two weeks! This means that I'll have plenty of time to write and start updating regularly for you guys. Now that finals are pretty much done and I no longer have homework, I've decided to dedicate this month to purely writing, no updating, until the first of July. I hope to write several chapters for this story, as well as many others. So, I'm afraid that I'll have to say goodbye for  **one last time** until then. After that, it'll be updates galore!

If you'd like, I can start posting updates on my MCU and Hannigram tumblrs so that you know what projects I'm working on everyday. If you like the sound of this idea, please leave a comment down below.  **I will begin updating if I get at least 10 comments.**

Lastly, I really really want to bring our fandom together by extending an invitation to you through Discord! Please, if you haven't already, consider making an account and joining our little Hannigram fandom ASAP. We really want you to be a part of our community! And the same goes for MCU Stony/Stuckony. We're always looking to welcome new members <3

Well that's the end of my little announcement. I'll see you guys soon, so don't miss me too much <3 Don't forget to leave a comment down below if you want updates on tumblr, and join the Discord servers!!!!

Bye byyyeee!

 

 

**Discord Hannigram: **https://discord.gg/ZfaCtD****

**Discord MCU Stony:**  <https://discord.gg/z5WSqbS>

**Discord Stuckony:<https://discord.gg/jtXcc3n>**

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr!](my-soul-and-perfume.tumblr.com)


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